


a later affair.

by nightfair



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-11 17:30:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/801278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightfair/pseuds/nightfair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal/Alana, TV-verse, an alternate version to that kitchen scene during Sorbet</p>
            </blockquote>





	a later affair.

**Author's Note:**

> CONTENT: uh shit idk there's no actual sex and no real action aside from some kissy-kissy stuff that's much more than kissy-kissy stuff uh there's very mild language?? I think?? and um yah we've got some nice present tense shit going on with a third-person POV  
> 1534 words ((I just like to hit the enter bar a lot oops))
> 
> Author's Note: I don't believe in every prefacing one's writing with an apology, but I'm sORRY anyway bc I've never done this before and wow 45-minutes ago I was suposed to be doing homework and this happened instead  
> but yah guys yah!!

When he asks why, she remembers.

She remembers knowing. She remembers wanting to deny it - everyone else did, so why couldn't she?

_Dr. Lecter would never have an affair._  

_Dr. Lecter? No. Never._

_I wish. I mean, with me, of course. I'd have an affair a thousand times over with him, if he weren't like, so high up._  

They were all denials of him being with random girls - random girls who had most likely tried to start the rumors themselves. Yet she remembers the other rumor that circulated.

_Alana and Dr. Lecter. Hannibal and "That Bloom Girl". She spends a lot of time with him, don't you think? She's such a kiss ass - I guess literally. I once saw her write Alana Lecter on her paper, you know? What, does she think she's in high school? Alana and Dr. Lecter. Hannibal and "That Bloom Girl"._

She remembers feeling flushed. She remembers the denial that came along with rosiness, and as her cheeks tinted with pink, she knew it only made those asking her if she was having an affair with him believe it all the more to be true. She remembers her longing, her wishing, her wanting -- it must have all presented itself to look like embarrassment or shame.

She remembers wanting to change the denial of the rumors pertaining to her into denying herself the truth of what actually was going on. She wanted to pretend she wasn't the only one who could sense he had just been with someone; that she couldn't just  _smell_  the perfume of someone else on him when she stood close. She remembers wanting it to have been her mixed into his clothes, evidence of her still lingering on him long after they had left one another. She wanted to be closer. Always closer.

And so when Hannibal asks her why,  _why didn't we have an affair_ , Alana nearly freezes up. She feels time slow and suddenly the lights in the kitchen buzz louder, the wine glass in her hand feels heavier. The oak that she tastes her wine becomes much more pronounced, it becomes much more human-- it tastes too sweet, suddenly.  
The sweetness does not come out, though. Instead, from her lips comes what she spent so long trying to surpress.

_You were already having an affair_ , and as she finally says it outloud, she smiles. The truth leaves her tongue, and with it goes her youthful shame. She trusts Hannibal. She doesn't have to watch herself the same way she does around Will, who she's still afraid to hurt. She doesn't have to prove herself to Jack, who she's still trying to be enough for. She's already been hurt by Hannibal, but it wasn't his fault. She already knows she's not enough for him, but again, it's not his fault. She trusts Hannibal more than she trusts herself, and she's reminded of this as suddenly she begins to flush again, before she tries to change the subject.

_Will does that, too, you know--_ but before she can go on, he stops her.

_You thought I was having- I was having an affair?_ and he says this, with a smirk that's not out of pride, but out of shock. Surprise, maybe. 

_Give me more credit than that,_ she says, her mouth going try and her tongue coated in oak.  _I've always known you, Hannibal._

_But what makes you- what made you think that?_ He seems genuinely shocked. Surprised. Did he really not think she'd known?

_It wasn't that hard, silly. I mean, you'd come sometimes and you'd be... you wouldn't be you, exactly. It was the oddest air of confidence. You weren't nervous, but you weren't you, either. It was confidence that was too confident. Not pride, not vanity. Just- something else,_ and as this all comes out of her mouth, she blames the wine immediately. She puts the glass down, and it sloshes in her stomach. She wants to pick up the knife, she wants to go back to cutting. She wants to be anywhere but here -- but all the same, it's happening. It's finally happening.

He sets his knife down, and he looks at her. She feels small, but too big; she feels too present and still not enough. He takes a step closer to her, as if they already weren't near enough. She can smell him again -- no perfume, not this time. It's all Hannibal, sweet and strong all at the same time. Intoxicating, deafening. The sound of his silence shatters her will, as if there were any left. She steps towards him.

_I could smell it, too._

_What?_ and he asks this, his mouth just above hers, with less than breathing room between them. He's not shocked or surprised, now - just confused.

_Other girls- I mean, girl, I'm assuming there was one? The scent changed sometimes. Sometimes it was sweet and light, other times it was more musky. But it always had this coppery smell to it. It was overwhelmingly subtle, I mean. It was there, though._

His hand draws her closer, wrapping itself around her back. Hannibal's fingers find their between the knot of her apron, and it comes off, dropping to the ground.  _Overwhelmingly subtle?_  and he asks this his fingers now trail up her spine. Slowly, slowly. She's now the one to be shocked. Surprised, maybe.

_You know what I mean-_ and suddenly both of his hands are around her back, and her hand grabs onto the back of his neck to steady herself. He pulls her head to his, their foreheads touching. Decorated in goosebumps, her skin burns against his.

Her tongue feels heavy, sloppy, as though weighed under the roots of an oak. She pulls herself up, heavy in his arms.  _What're we doing, Hannibal?_

He answers this with hesitation. His mouth hovers in front of her lips, so close, yet still so far. He's never been the one to be without words, nor without action -- but she remembers the last time she didn't say anything, she didn't get anything, either.  
So she answers for him, her lips on his and suddenly she realizes she has never known the taste of another human as pure as Hannibal. The kiss is  lingering -- desire in slow motion, frozen humanity.

She remembers this never happened before. She remembers asking herself  _why not me?_ over and over and over until it was a lighthouse of a question: always on her mind, although not always the most present. It would either dominate her thoughts, then slowly circled back to the back burner, until it would come back and hit her hard at night as she lay in bed alone. She remembers this never happened before.  
She wants to remember tomorrow that it happens now.

Alana grabs the collar of his shirt and she pulls the buttons off as his lips now make their way down her neck. Goosebumps, like shotgun wounds, cover both their arms.   
One button, two buttons- his chest beats, rising and lowering. Three buttons, four buttons- she has to stop, because she needs more. She hates it, but she needs it, and the next kiss is no longer slow. It is no longer humanity: it is purely animalistic.

The kitchen lights' buzz fades. The wine in her stomach slows in her blood stream. The oak tree that had covered her tongue is instead replaced by the taste of him, of him, of him - her lips part and for a moment, their teeth knock, and when they move away he bites her bottom lip so hard it begins to bleed.   
Without pulling away, he uses one hand to wipe the blood off, still kissing her. Little drops of red sit on his fingertip, which he brings to his own mouth, sucking slowly. His other hand begins to unzip her dress, the cold of the metal running down her spine.

She begins to work on his belt, her lip throbbing beneath the pressure of his mouth on hers. Her dress comes off as his pants go down, and her chest gives away her needing.

_Hannibal, what're we doing?_ and she asks this without wanting to. Wanting versus needing.

_Hold on,_  but he doesn't answer her question. Instead, he pulls away, steading his breathing as he clears the counter. He sets the food to his left, the utensils to his right, and Alana wipes the last of the blood off of her swelling lips. She unclasps her own bra, throwing it on top of the apron.   
He turns back to her, running his hands up her shaking legs.

He answers her question by putting her back against the cold, clear counter. His body hovers over hers, and he smiles.

_Goddammit, Dr. Lecter,_ she says, but she smiles now, too.  _Answer my goddamn question._

And before she can ask him again, he kisses her, tasting like oak.

When he doesn't answer, she doesn't ask why.


End file.
